Caught
by DapperDestruction
Summary: "Finally, cheeks burning bright red and eyes stinging, Blaine turned his gaze upwards to look at the man in the doorway. "Dad." His voice cracked." Part of the Falling Apart universe.


A/N: This fic depicts scenes of violent child abuse. If you or anyone you know is being abused in any way, please speak out. If you live in America you can call 1-800-4-A-CHILD. If you live in the UK, you can call 0-800-1111, or 0-808-800-500. Help break the silence and make the world a safer place.

This is a side story for Gillasue345's story "Falling Apart". This won't really make too much sense without reading that first, but feel free to read it as a stand alone if you want!

"Oh, god! Yes, harder!"

The larger of the two males threw his head back, brow furrowed and lips parted slightly, then he leaned back down and kissed the back of his partner's neck. He whispered a long string of dirty curses in his ear before biting down on it. The smaller brunette moaned shamelessly as he pumped himself rapidly.

Blaine bit his lip and glanced nervously at the door for a moment before returning his gaze to the screen and turning the volume down a little more. He leaned forward intently, studying the actions on the screen carefully. He swallowed shakily as he felt his cheeks heating. He looked away, embarrassed even though he was alone and had no reason to be.

Squirming a little bit, he shifted slightly in his seat, clenching his legs together a little bit. His mouth hung open a little bit as he leaned forward, just realizing how intent he was studying the action on the screen. He was silent for a few minutes as he felt heat pooling in his stomach and a bulge pulled at his zipper. He bit his lip, glancing at the door again before popping the button on his jeans open and unzipping them slowly.

An image of Dean flashed across his mind as he closed his eyes and slipped his hand into his underwear.

Then the door burst open and suddenly Blaine didn't feel so turned on anymore.

He pulled his hand out of his pants like he'd been burnt and he fumbled for the TV remote. It was too late, though-he'd been caught red handed. They were silent for a pregnant moment that seemed to last a lot longer that it actually did. Finally, cheeks burning bright red and eyes stinging, Blaine turned his gaze upwards to look at the man in the doorway.

"Dad." His voice cracked.

Blaine's father remained silent and eerily still. His hands were loose at his sides, but his shoulders were stiff. His eyes were fixed on the screen, the image frozen on an extremely…. _graphic_ frame. His father pressed his lips into a thin white line, staring at the screen, then slowly turned his head towards Blaine, taking in the sight of his unbuttoned pants and the obvious bulge beneath the thin fabric of Blaine's underwear.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, steadying himself and pinching the bridge of his nose the same way he did when he was working on a particularly hard case. "What," he paused and looked up at Blaine, eyes narrow and burning, "the hell are you doing?"

The blood drained from Blaine's face and he felt his stomach bottomed out. "I… uh, I-I'm…. Dad… I just-" he stammered.

"No son of mine will be a fag."

He didn't yell it like one might expect. He just stated it plain and simple-soft and dangerous. Blaine's vision blurred slightly as the tears came, unbidden, and threatened to spill down his cheeks.

"Dad…."

"No questions, no arguments. You. Are. Not. A. _Fag._"

"But, Dad-!"

Blaine's plea was cut off with a hard slap across the face that stung his cheek and made the first of his tears spill over. He looked up at his dad, face shocked and forlorn.

"No son of mine will be a fag!"

He was raging, now. There had been very few times Blaine had seen his dad get angry enough that his face turned red and he'd never seen his eyes looks quite so cold as they did right at that moment.

Another slap stuck him across the face, this time hard enough to knock him backwards off of his seat, head reeling. He came back to real life a second later with his cheek pressed against the carpet and the room spinning around him. He felt a lot of blows come down on him, maybe ten or a dozen. All he could really do was curl up and cry. After all, even if he thought about fighting back, there was no way he stood any sort of chance-his father was a big, well-built man and Blaine was a fourteen-year-old late bloomer that was roughly one third of his father's size.

He tried to block it out, but the pain made him dizzy. He was jerked back into full awareness when his father grabbed a fistful of his dark curls and yanked his head backwards so he was forced to sit up on his knees, tears streaming down his face and stinging the cut he hadn't even realized a ring had opened up on his cheek. The football ring had sharp edges and hurt a lot, he remembered now. He could feel the blood and tears running down his exposed throat.

"Never again. If I catch you like this again, you're dead. Understand?" It was a whisper, really. Blaine could barely hear it over his own ragged breathing and sobbing.

When he didn't respond for a few seconds, his father shook his head violently, pulling harder on his hair. "Understand?" he hissed.

Blaine whimpered and choked, but nodded.

"Good." Then he was released and fell back to the floor, immediately curling in on himself, crying as his father left the room.


End file.
